


The Creation of Eve

by 732



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Hugo - Freeform, Pamela - Freeform, amber peele - Freeform, i just wanted to write villanelle interacting with a child because i think it'd be funny, that chicken from S1, the ghost - Freeform, the one where the author writes about all the characters the series forgot about
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:08:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22296847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/732/pseuds/732
Summary: You know that aching, abysmal chasm that settles deep in your chest that no amount of alcohol can quell? Eve does.Villanelle disappeared for the better part of a year and mysteriously shows up for Eve's mother's funeral.It's kind of funny that death keeps bringing them together.TL;DR Villanelle and Eve kidnap a baby. Shenanigans ensue
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 14
Kudos: 148





	1. 296 Days

**Author's Note:**

> I've been playing around with the idea that Eve may be more like Villanelle than she lets on

It’s been 9 months and 20 days. Eve has been keeping track in her mind. It was such a significant date. Eve separated her life into categories based around that date 9 months and 20 days ago, the day that Villanelle shot her and left her for dead in Rome. There was before Rome ( _failing marriage,_ _work, obsession, l_ _ate nights, lost sleep, perfume,_ _knives,_ _champagne, imminent threat of death_ ) and after Rome ( _hospital, surgery, physical therapy, couples counseling,_ _scheduled sex_ _, bridge club,_ _grocery shopping with reusable eco-friendly bags from ethically sourced material_ _s_ ). 9 months and 20 days—3 seasons, one birthday, one Christmas, one New Year’s, one whole series of her favorite show, 296 days since she’s last seen Villanelle.

And it’s been fine.

Honestly, it was surprising almost how quickly things fell back into a routine after Rome. One moment, Eve was trying to save the world with a renowned international assassin from a megalomaniac tech giant. And the next, well, she no longer works for MI6 for one. They dropped her like a load of bricks. Blacklisted all of her communication as well. And her disarmingly charming partner in crime disappears off the face of the earth.

Life is fine.

Niko has been surprisingly cavalier about everything as well. He’s been the supportive, caring husband. He visited Eve every day in the hospital. He held her hand when she was relearning to walk. He cooked for her every single night since. He accepted Eve back into his life so readily.

When the nursing home called Eve last week to tell inform her that her mother passed away in the night, Niko was the one who caught her when her knees gave out and she collapsed. Niko was the one to gently rest Eve’s head on his shoulder as she wailed. Niko was the one who called Eve’s remaining family to inform them of the news. Niko made the funeral arrangements.

Niko is a fine husband in her fine life. What more could Eve ask for.

* * *

_Everyone looks good in black,_ Eve thought as she scanned the parlor. _Maybe I should wear more black. Very slimming._

“—so I tied an onion to my belt—which was the style at the time. Now to take the ferry to Shelbyville cost a nickel and in those days nickels had pictures of bumblebees on ‘em—”

“Excuse me _,_ ” Eve steps away from the conversation with her great-uncle to answer the door. A welcome distraction.

To mentally prep for another awkward exchange about her mother Eve inhaled deeply. The door opens and she is met with a small woman sporting one of those trendy haircuts. “Eleanor.” She smiled genuinely, arms held open.

“Evie!” she hopped over the threshold to crush her cousin in a hug.

“It’s good to see you honey.”

“Same! It has been what? 8 years since I’ve been in London.”

“Too long.”

“I just wish it were under different circumstances. My condolences, Eve.”

She holds her cousin at arms length. Eve hated this. What do you say when someone’s mom dies? What do you say when _your_ mom is the one that dies and nobody knows what to say to you?

Eve just hums.

“Ack! Oh sorry,” She looks down to see a child about knee high staring back up at her. “I didn’t mean to kick you. I just did not see you down there.”

“It’s okay,” Eleanor picks up a small boy about 3 years old. “This little weirdo hiding behind my legs is Raphael. Say hi to cousin Evie, honey.”

“Hi, Evie.” Eleanor bounces Raphael on her hip and gestures her head toward Eve. “Oh yeah—I’m sorry about your mom.”

“Thanks, sweetie.” She couldn’t help but kiss Raphael’s forehead. He looked just like Eleanor. It was those big brown eyes and wild hair that all Parks had. She kissed Eleanor’s forehead too for good measure.

Eleanor scrunches her nose in faux disgust. “I am a grown woman, Eve.”

“Even though you’re 22, you will always be my baby cousin.”

A few elderly people ambled towards the doorway the trio stood in.

“Hello, thanks for coming.” Eve nods and steps aside to let them in.  
“My condolences, Eve. Your mother will be sorely missed.”

What Eve wants to say is:

 _Why_ _do_ _people only_ _miss_ _someone_ _once they’re dead? Nobody has visited_ omma _in years._ _I wa_ _s_ _her_ _only family left in_ _England_ _._

What Eve really does is bite her tongue and just nods again.

They continue on through the doorway and into the parlor with the rest of the guests.

Eleanor asks once they are out of earshot “Who was that?”

“No fucking clue—oops sorry.” Eve’s hand shot up to her mouth but not quick enough for the curse word to slip out. “Didn’t mean to say that.”

Eleanor shrugged. “It’s fine. Your mom just died so you are allowed to swear.”

Raphael framed Eleanor’s face with he hands. In all seriousness he asks, “Can I say _no fucking clue_ , mommy?”

“Not while I’m alive, baby.”

Eve snorted. Eleanor and Eve shared the same dark sense of humor. That’s why they got along so well. “There are some family members you only see at weddings and funerals.” Eve shrugs. “What’re you gonna do?”

“I’ll just play it safe and call everyone _auntie_ or _uncle,_ then _.”_

“Clever. I’ll steal that from you.” Eve chuckles. “Hey, why don’t you two also head inside? Carlos, Teddy, and various a _untie_ _s_ and _uncle_ _s_ are in the parlor with Niko. There are refreshments on the table. I’m gonna step out for some air _._ ”

Eve searched the room for Niko. He was over in the corner still talking to great-uncle Warwick. Niko’s eyes pleaded with Eve. _Uncle_ has a habit of telling stories with no end. Eve stuck her tongue out and shuffled quickly outside.

She crossed the lawn to stand by the street. Smoking was dirty, sinful habit that Eve took up again. Working in a restaurant will do that to you. Attending your mother’s funeral will also do that to you.

“I fucking hate funerals...” she mumbled around the cigarette dangling in her mouth. “ _Oh_ _we offer our_ _condolences. Sorry for your loss._ What the hell are you supposed to say to that? _Thoughts and prayers,_ _we_ _send_ _our_ _regards._ Whatever bullshit...”

After fumbling with her lighter, Eve finally got her cigarette to catch. _About damn time. Sweet,_ _sweet_ _nicotine._ Eve inhaled deeply. _Maybe I should take up vaping? Then I wouldn’t have to deal with shitty lighters or shitty wind_. Before she could exhale though, someone snatched away her cigarette from her lips.

“Who the f—”

Eve’s eyes followed her cigarette held by delicate but capable fingers. “This stuff is bad for you, you know.” That voice, that accent haunted her dreams for 9 months and 20 days. There was no mistaking it.

“Villanelle.”

“Did you miss me?” Villanelle offered a cheeky grin. When did Eve’s mouth get so dry?

“What are you doing here?”

“I heard about your mother passing. I thought you might need support.” She dropped Eve’s cigarette and extinguished it with her toe. “My condolences.”


	2. Daddy's Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Death at a funeral and who let's a psychopath-assassin babysit?

You know those really clever people that can come up with a witty comeback immediately? Yeah, Eve was not one of those people. Still, she imagined this moment for 9 months and 20 days. _What would I say to Villanelle if I ever saw her again?_

 _You left me for dead in Rome. Prepare to die._ But that was discarded because it was a little too "my name is Inigo Montoya" and done already.

There was:

 _A_ _RRGGGHHH_ _I'll kill you_ as she strangled Villanelle with her bare hands but Eve felt that lacked subtlety.

This was a contender for a minute:

 _Bend_ _the_ _hell_ _over. Daddy's home._ Unfortunately, that one was so much more sexual and not at all like the badass action movie line Eve thought it would be.

Then there was also this classic:

 _Fuck you._ Succinct. To the point. It expressed the multitudes Eve wanted to communicate.

But here stood Villanelle in all her terrifyingly sophisticated glory and Eve could not, for the life of her, form a single syllable.

 _Did you miss me_? Echoed in her mind.

 _Every shadow was you lurking. Every unknown caller_ _was_ _you ringing. You were gunshots sounding that turned out to be cars backfiring._ _You were roses. You were the glint_ _in every_ _knife._ _You were everywhere. Of course I fucking missed you,_ but she would never admit that out loud. Especially not when Villanelle stood there looking so smug and casual with her hands in her pockets. As if mere months ago they weren’t making plans of running away together after they murdered a gent in tandem.

“You are supposed to say ‘thank you,’ by the way.”

Eve was pulled out of her thoughts back into the conversation. _Focus, Eve._ Her confusion must have shown because Villanelle continued on.

“Or 'that is _kind_ of you.'” The blonde woman rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out to punctuate her disgust. “I googled it.”

Eve wondered about Villanelle’s web search history:

 _What to say at funeral  
_ _Empathy step-by-step_ _  
How to be a decent human  
How to _fake _being_ _a decent human being_ _because you can’t do it for real_

The irony of it all is that Eve had no idea about those things either but she was not ready to confront that yet.

For all the death that followed in Villanelle’s wake, she still had no idea how to pay respects to the dead. Kind of made sense. What type of assassin would go to a funeral? Surely not for anyone she has killed. They were just a finished job. Like an old spreadsheet from last quarter. And definitely not a funeral for anyone she cared about. There were no friends, no family, nobody left in her life to care.

“Wh-why are you here?”

“I am here for you, Eve.”

Eve swallowed. Villanelle came here for her?

_'Eve, I am here to finish killing you.'_

_'Eve, I am the one who killed your mother.'_

_'Eve, your mother died of natural cause. However, I am determined to prove to you that I love you. Please use my shoulder for crying.'_

Which implication was more terrifying?

She was not ready for this conversation. All the days rehearsing in the shower did not prepare her for this in real life. Villanelle. With her skin like porcelain. Not a hair out of place. Her neck, long and delicate, perfectly framed by her designer suit plunging into a deep neckline. And god damn it if Eve did not wonder how her hands would feel wrapped around that throat. She wondered what kind of sound would that elicit. Would Villanelle cry out? Whimper? Moan?

Without warning Eve bent over to grab the bottom of her dress. She pulled the hem up by the handful. Of course, Villanelle cocked her head to the side to admire her companion's toned legs. She daydreamed this is how their encounter might go... However, Eve stopped about mid thigh reaching what she was searching for.

“You keep a _flask_ in your garter?”

“Only for special occasions,” the curly haired woman sardonically threw back.

“That is very sexy.”

Instead of responding Eve held up a finger and took a swig from her flask. Her comrade regarded the spectacle amused. For someone with no feelings, Villanelle’s face was always so expressive. The way her eyebrow quirked ever so slightly. Or how the corner of her lips turned in bemusement.

 _Ugh_.

Eve took another drink. She was too sober for this shit.

The pair were interrupted by a husky, male voice. It gradually grew louder. It seemed Niko finally freed himself from the conversation with his elderly relative. “Eve, your great-uncle Warwick--solid fellow--sure can tell a story. I’m actually kind of impressed how a story being told for so long can have no end, or middle, or beginning really...” The hedge that the pair ducked behind could not conceal them forever. Niko slowed down his jog when he recognized that his wife was standing merely inches away from the woman who tried to kill her on lord knows how many occasions.

They all exchanged silent stares. _Y_ _up_ _, too sober,_ Eve pondered before taking another sip from her flask.

“Villanelle...”

In an instant, the assassin was in Niko’s face. Her strides were graceful and effortless. She closed the gap between them in a moment. “Mustache!” And though he stood taller than the svelte blonde even in heels, Niko cowered. “I thought I told you to take care of her?”

He rubbed spot on his chest where Villanelle jabbed him with her freshly manicured hand. “What d’ya mean? She’s doing _fine._ ”

“Then why is she trying to give herself cancer, hmm?” Villanelle points to the cigarette butt extinguished by her boot.

“I mean, she’s stressed. Her mother--”

“Wait a minute.” They had been in communication? It took Eve’s mind a moment to register the conversation happening between her husband and her… Goodness she did not even know what to call Villanelle. It was all too surreal. “You two have been talking _?_ For how long? _”_

“Eve--”

“You _knew_ Villanelle was keeping tabs on me and you _helped_ her, Niko?”

“Eve, please understand.” Niko’s adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he gulped. It looked exaggerated and stupid. Not at all reminiscent of the grace Villanelle’s delicate neckline had. Eve wondered if his throat would still bob like that if she squeezed his neck tight enough? “Villanelle can be quite convincing with a knife.”

Villanelle smug, shrugged in agreement. “I am flattered. This is true.”

Eve muttered under her breath as she made for her flask again. “Un-fucking-believable.”

Her husband held his hand open. “Are you drinking?” Eventually she handed it over but not without reluctance. Niko took a sniff from the opening of the metal container. “Jesus, it’s 10 in the morning, Eve.”

 _And here he goes with the nagging again._. _.._

You could cut the tension with a knife. Villanelle was the first to break it with her playful lilt. “Don’t be rude, Niko. It is tradition.”

“I have researched it. Here,” she gestures for the flask. “You must drink,” the tin is tilted to her mouth. “Then,” it is turned until liquor spills onto the ground. “You pour one out for the _homies_. In this case Eve’s mother.”

Villanelle is obviously pleased with herself. Her chuckles, though, are met with blank stares from the couple and more silence. “I am just trying to lighten the mood. You look like you are at a funeral or something.” She takes another sip from the flask.

Niko scoffs. “Give it,” and grabs the metal tin back once and for all.

“It was empty anyway.”

“What? Goodness Eve, where did you get that second flask?” Niko turned around to see Eve holding another identical flask.

“My other garter.”

_This is too much right now._

Another tense silence falls. Eve could hear the chatter from inside and giggles from her baby cousin growing louder. “I need to sit down.” She tucked her flask in her bust of her dress and made for the front door. Before she could get far though, Villanelle had grabbed her wrist, anchoring her to the spot.

“There is no time.” Her grip was firm, almost certain to leave a bruise. “As I said earlier I came here for you, Eve.”

“My mother’s fucking funeral is today. So if you don’t mind,” she yanks her arm free from the assassin’s grasp. “I need to go celebrate her life as her last living relative!” Which was the truth. Everyone in attendance minus Eve and Niko, were actually relatives on her father’s side.

_Why today. Of all days._

More giggles approached quickly followed by a mop head of unruly black hair. “Hi!” A small toddler seemingly popped up out of nowhere. He reached up and tugged at Villanelle’s sleeve.

The assassin recoiled, appearing genuinely shocked. “What is this thing?”

 _Raphael_ _._ Secretly, the older woman praised the interruption.

“That’s my cousin—second cousin. Or once removed. I dunno. I’m really bad at this family stuff,” Eve gestures vaguely. “That’s my cousin’s kid on my dad’s side. He’s sneaky. I kicked him earlier today.” then quickly added when Villanelle laughed inappropriately, “ _accidentally_. I don’t typically go around kicking children.”

“I would hope not.” Eleanor followed soon after her son. “Ah there you are, baby.” She ruffled the toddler’s hair. “Hi, sorry to interrupt _cousin_.” Eleanor eyed the trio, her gaze finally resting on the blonde stranger that stood with them. The tension was palpable. “Is everything alright?”

“Eleanor. Yes, everything is fine.” Eve begged that Villanelle understood the sideways glance she shot her.

But the assassin’s gaze was too busy regarding the younger asian woman. Her eyes dragged slowly from the stylish leather boots she wore on her feet up her body towards that wild Park hair, very much similar to Eve’s though cut in a trendier fashion. Villanelle’s hungry eyes lingered just a moment too long on Eleanor’s body. It did not sit well with Eve. “ _Ahem,_ of course Eleanor. This is my--”

“Colleague.” Her blonde companion supplied.

Eve was too out of it to notice the wink Villanelle aimed towards Niko. Or that Niko appeared visibly pissed off then terrified. He tried to settle his face into what he assumed was neutral but instead ended up looking like he had indigestion.

“Yes, my colleague...” but her mind was drawing a blank. Eve? Can't, that's her name. Villanelle? No. Rome? Home. Home? Paris “...France...s...ca--”

The ease that comes with slipping in and out of different personas showed. Villanelle offered her hand to Eve’s cousin and without missing a beat added “-- _si_ yes, Francesca Vitali,” delivered with a light, pleasant accent that was not her own.

Eleanor took her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Pleasure is mine,” her voice practically purring.

This time Eve cleared her throat a little more pointedly. _“_ _Ahem.”_

It was another second before Eleanor pulled her eyes away from Villanelle’s intense gaze. “So yeah, Niko, _A_ _untie,_ couldn’t tell you which one though _,”_ Eleanor directed her laugh at Eve, “would like some coffee. Would you mind showing me how to use your fancy machine?”

Niko’s eyes widened as he looked back at his wife for direction. ‘ _What is going on_ _here_ _?’_

Eve weighed the moment. Husband, cousin, baby, and psychopath. She nodded a nonverbal ‘ _Go on,_ _get_ _them_ _far away from this crazy bitch._ _I will…_ _figure it out.’_

Niko’s chin raised once in acknowledgment. “Right, well. I’ll put it on. You are our guests of course,” and he ushered Eleanor toward the front door leaving behind Eve and Villanelle in tense silence.

“Raffy, let’s go,” Eleanor called behind her shoulder but her son stay rooted to the spot between Eve and Villanelle.

“Sweetie, go follow your mommy inside.”

Villanelle nods in agreement and makes a shooing motion with her hands. But Raphael, thinking it was some type of game, only giggles more. The blonde let's out an impatient sigh.

Eve protectively scoops the toddler up in her arms. “Whatever you have planned, I will cooperate willingly. Just… not in front of him.”

The assassin considers this for a moment.

Raphael, eye-level with Villanelle in Eve's grasp, squeaks out “Hello.”

She shifts her deadpan gaze to Eve. “I have no idea how to talk with these things,” she says, dropping her fake accent in lieu of her Russian one.

“He’s a person, Vill— _Francesca_. Just talk to him like normal.”

“Hello, child.” Villanelle held out her hand.

Toddlers do not generally give handshakes. Raphael stared at Villanelle’s extended hand. He laced their fingers and held her hand as that seemed the most logical thing for him to do. “I like your hair. You’re pretty.”

“I know this. Why are your hands sticky?”

“I was eating candy.”

“What kind of candy? Go get me some. From your mommy. Inside the house, hmm?”

“Okay!”

Villanelle raised her eyebrow at Eve as if to say ‘there, happy?’

“Mommy! _C_ _ousin_ Evie and the pretty lady want some skizzles...”

Eve mutters a thanks. Her legs felt like lead as she trudged to the house. She was halfway to the door with Raphael in her arms when screams erupted from inside. She froze in place.

_Fuck._

A tick passes before Niko comes stumbling down the stoop. His eyes were bloodshot. In another moment, he was on his knees and grasping at his throat desperate for air. His mouth was moving but no sound was coming out.

Sirens broke out adding to the cacophony of screams. Was that the police or an ambulance on it's way?

Villanelle muttered an expletive in Russian.

“Niko!” Eve jerked her body in an attempt to close the distance to her husband but she found that she was being restrained by a strong arm.

Hot breath tickled Eve’s ear. “Eve, we must go. _Now_!” Villanelle wrapped both of her arms around Eve's waist. With how lean she was, Eve was thoroughly impressed by how much strength Villanelle actually had. The blonde pulled Eve until she was practically stuffing her into the passenger seat of a car. And she was so agile for it wasn’t even a blink later that Villanelle was buckling herself in the driver’s side.

Villanelle drove with a heavy foot, determined to put as much space between them and the house in as little time as possible.

Eve turned to look out the rear window. “Niko...” she managed to weakly mumble but it was barely audible over the screeching tires.

His body was collapsed on the front yard. And if it weren’t for the adrenaline coursing through her veins now, she may have missed detail of the figure looming behind him. Eve cursed herself for overlooking it earlier. She wasn’t focused. Her mind was not all there… for in the doorway, with her hair covered with a gray wig, make up done to make her appear aged, there was no mistaking who stared back at her. It was the Ghost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> imagining Villanelle interacting with children is one of the cutest things I can think of


	3. Of All the Gin Joints

Villanelle separated her life into two categories.

There was _before Villanelle_. Before fast cars and lots of money; before fancy boots and expensive clothes; before knives and guns became part of her daily dress.

Before Eve. Konstantin. The Twelve. Before _excitement_.

And the second era was _aft_ _er_ _Oksan_ _a._

After the death of a pathetic woman who had no right to exist. One who was so inconsequential that she bore no one left to speak her name. No mother or father or siblings to weep at their loss; no friends or ex-lovers to remember her fondly by. No funeral. Just an unmarked grave in the prison cemetery back in Russia, unkempt and unremembered. _After Oksana_. After this svelte, lean, mean, killing machine arose from her ashes—much like a murderous, flamboyant phoenix.

This era of her life was leagues better than what it was just a mere 5 years ago _before Villanelle_.

_After Oksana,_ behind the wheel of a getaway vehicle, is where she excelled. This is where she thrived. The assassin came in hot and took a corner a little too sharply, albeit expertly. Oh how Villanelle loved to show off.

The assassin basked in her own braggadocious skills. Her reverie was cut short, however, by the shrill screams of the child sitting next to her.

_Shit,_ Villanelle thought. _What am I supposed to do with that?_

She regretted Eve not dropping it before Villanelle ushered her in to the car. The poor catatonic woman was still clutching at her chest looking as if she just saw a ghost. Or _the_ ghost, rather. She had a death grip on the toddler and likewise, he was dragged into this mess with them.

Villanelle considered dropping him off at a grocery store. Perhaps a nice cashier or patron could take him?

“Hello, Eve? Eve?” Villanelle reached over to slap the asian woman’s cheeks a couple times. It worked before when the brunette was in shock. Like hiccups.

This time though, it garnered zero response. Her vacant stare focused a thousand yards behind them to a man collapsed on the ground.

The blonde pinched the bridge of her nose where a headache was starting to form. What, with a screaming child, and the threat of imminent death from a very capable, vengeful assassin looming behind them. A vacant partner beside her. Not to mention the smell of cigarette smoke that lingered on Eve’s clothing was starting to make Villanelle nauseous. Was this woman worth all this trouble?

She cracked her window to let in some fresh air. _That_ _will take_ _care of the_ _stench_ _. Now for that—_ _that_ _banshee_ _shriek_ _._

“Hey! HEY!” her volume increased in a vain attempt to be heard over it’s wailing.

Irina came to her mind.

“What is the matter? What is wrong with you?”

The toddler only screeched louder in reply.

“Can you be more specific?!”

More screaming now coupled with tears.

_Ugh_ . _Was saving Eve’s life worth all this effort?_

Villanelle visibly shook her head. “Okay, okay be quiet now.” her arm reached to grab Raphael by his shirt collar and unceremoniously plopped him down on her free knee.

“Quiet, quiet now. Do not… be crying.” She bounced her leg and smacked his back in an effort to soothe him.

Raphael turned to look at her with large, indignant eyes.

“Sorry, was that too hard?”

He allayed a bit when she changed her pressure to _lightly_ rub his back. Villanelle found that if she bounced her leg too much the car swerved, which was no good considering the ridiculous speed they were going. A lighter knee bounce also had the positive effect of calming Raphael down some more. “There, there. Stop screaming so much.”

Her soothing worked for eventually Raphael threw his arms up to wrap Villanelle in a loose hug. The assassin’s body stiffened for a moment as he buried his face into her chest. He cried into her very expensive suit. He wiped his runny nose on her lapel, his runny eyes on her blouse. Villanelle cringed. Did she mention this suit was expensive?

As long as he continued to seek comfort by burying his face in her soft jacket, though, the qiviut wool did a good job of muffling his hideous screeching and crying. An added benefit.

_Was saving Eve worth it?_ She thought again. Her driving hand gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white. _Yes,_ Villanelle decided resolute.

She let out an exasperated sigh. “Okay, now. Quiet.” Villanelle resisted the urge to pass Raphael back into Eve’s lap and continued to half-heartedly pat him, instead. Hopefully his screaming would stop soon.

* * *

_9 months and 16 days earlier_

Villanelle visited Connecticut. Back when she believed Eve was dead by her hand.

She wondered who else would be there to mourn Eve at her funeral? How sure was she even that the MI6 agent would have a service in the US? Not at all. But Villanelle could not stand to be in Europe any longer. Not when every city there was a reminder. All the good times that they shared traveling together. Chasing each other.

Villanelle stood at the house Eve lived in with her father in Connecticut. She walked down the street that young Eve took on her way back from school. The grocery store where Eve likely shopped. She retraced the footsteps of the late Eve Polastri _née_ Eve Park. Raised in Woodbridge, Connecticut. Eve’s hometown was so small though (population 9,000) that it did not take long. She was finished by sunset.

It was quaint. Quiet. _Boring_.

Villanelle hated it.

She felt like too big of a fish in too small of a pond.

There were not even any good bars for Villanelle to mourn in. Everything closed at 9PM. She had such a lovely lamenting outfit but no one would be able to see her if they all left _before_ 9 o’clock.

Villanelle did the most logical next thing for her. She took her phone out and started searching the web for the first train out of this sleepy town.

Yale University was only 15 minutes away. Enticing. She could tempt an Ivy League student to ruin their whole future… maybe a future president or a future CFO?

Or

New York City was only an hour and a half away. The city that never sleeps. Surely there she could find a nice dive bar to sit in, to wallow for hours? Then her sorrow-dress and grief-hat would not go to waste. After all, they were very nice clothes bought specifically for this occasion.

* * * *

Finding a bar in New York was easy. There was a dive within a block of the train station. And lucky for her there was an empty bar stool in the far corner that gave her a good view of the exit. She gestured to the bartender. “Gin and tonic.”

He nodded then served the beverage up to Villanelle.

_For Eve,_ she raised her glass in a toast to no one.

The carbonation made her lips tingle a bit.

A mess of thick, bouncy curls had appeared in Villanelle’s peripherals. Villanelle’s glass landed with such a loud _clink_ on the bar she was surprised it didn’t crack. _It couldn’t be, could it?_

The blonde whipped her head around to catch a glance at the retreating maybe-Eve but her view was obscured by a large man holding a bright pink margarita.

“Hi there.”

She leaned over to peer around the behemoth. _No, of course_ _that is_ _not Eve_ _here_ _..._ Villanelle’s stomach felt heavy though she was not sure why.

The tall man pushed the margarita in Villanelle’s direction to try to hold her attention. “That’s a very fancy outfit you have going on.”

She rolled her eyes. His voice was too deep and his company very unwanted. “Why do you Americans always start conversations with strangers?”

“Well only the really confident ones do.”

You could always tell an American by how confident they were. They all stand tall with an air of self-assuredness. Even the small ones walk with certainty and boldness that made them seem larger than they were.

_Eve was_ _always_ _so_ _confident in_ _everything she did,_ _e_ _ven_ _when she was wrong_. Villanelle’s heart thrummed a bit at the thought of Eve. _**Especially**_ _when she was wrong._ The corner of her lip turned in a somber half smile. Villanelle pushed aside the unwanted margarita and motioned to the bartender for another gin and tonic.

“And we only strike up conversations with the really cute strangers. If I got to know you, though, we wouldn’t be strangers.” He chuckled at his own joke.

On another day, perhaps she would have the patience to entertain this oaf. The dumb ones are fun to play with. “I am mourning. My girlfriend has died.” Not today though. Today was for Eve. “She was _mu_ _rdered_.” Villanelle traced her finger around the rim of her glass. She was certain that last part would scare him off.

It didn’t, though. The way he perked up at the mention of her girlfriend—dead girlfriend, may I add—made Villanelle want to gag. “Well shit, dollface.” He reached out a heavy hand to rest on her shoulder. “Sounds like you need some comforting, then.”

Villanelle’s mind calculated the risk analysis. Pro, she could most definitely benefit from some physical activity—namely punching this smug jerk repeatedly. Con, this was the wrong outfit for the occasion. Con, she is in a dive bar in America with no resources or backup. Pro, it is not likely that someone would protest if she cracked this poor excuse of a man’s fingers away from his palm, much like snow crab legs.

It was decided then. Villanelle would teach him a lesson in manners. Close her bar tab. Then get some snow crab legs to celebrate. _For Eve_.

She was only milliseconds away from peeling his hairy knuckled hand away from her when the weight was lifted by some external force. A lean woman who Villanelle recognized as the one who just walked in, was now limply holding the wrist she wanted to break.

“Do you mind, guy?” and she dropped hand like a wet rag. “Our friend was just murdered and you’re kind of killing the vibe.” She planted herself in the empty bar stool beside Villanelle. The stranger leaned in, physically cutting off the oaf from Villanelle and her own view. The oaf took the hint and skulked away to his next target. Another vulnerable looking woman drinking alone.

_Classy_.

“Sorry about that. Sometimes you need to lie just to get fuckers off your back. Sad isn’t it?” The stranger held up two fingers to the bartender and in just a couple seconds, two more gin and tonics appeared.

“I’m--”

_Not Eve,_ Villanelle thought.

“--Charlotte. Sorry about, y’know your girlfriend… ex-girlfriend, rather...”

Hazel eyes regarded the younger woman. She was no older than Villanelle yet old enough to drink. Her hair straight, dyed, and chopped in a trendy way. Eyes bright, hopeful. Her clothes were ratty but somehow fashionable, almost as if she bought them intentionally to look that way.

_Why would anyone call that fashion?_

This woman could not be further from anything that reminded her of Eve. _Maybe this is what I need to take my mind off her?_

Villanelle decided she was charmed by this inappropriate stranger. “Hello, Charlotte.” She forgot to hide her real accent. And after so many drinks, Villanelle almost forgot to give a fake name. She said the first thing that came to mind.

“I am V— _ahem,_ excuse me. Eve.” The name tingled on her lips.

“Well, Eve, “ she held up her drink to toast her new friend. “Here’s to murder and ex-girlfriends.”

They clinked and drank deeply.

* * *

Villanelle wondered if she gave out another name at the bar on that night, if the Ghost would have ever found her hiding in New York City? If Eve could have stayed hidden and off the radar of secret organizations with assassins on payroll?

_Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into that one._

There was no point in dwelling on the past anyway. The Ghost was stalking them both now. All that mattered is that she was here and Villanelle had a chance to atone for what happened.

For Charlie’s death. For Eve’s _almost_ death. Niko, she could give or take really. Mostly she was doing this for Charlotte and for Eve… and because the Ghost was such a braggart with her skills as an assassin. And nobody likes a braggart. Especially not Villanelle.

They drove for another 10 minutes or so before Eve checked back in. Even then, it was only because Villanelle was feeling the bust of her dress. For the flask, of course.

“What, uh, what’s going on?”

“Eve! Nice of you to join us.” Villanelle beamed at her.

Eve still in a fog, pulled her gaze away from the windshield to stare blankly at the offering in Villanelle’s hand. When she didn’t respond, Villanelle shrugged and drank from the metal tin.

Raphael was cradled in the crook of Villanelle’s non driving arm. Her suit lapel was soaked with tears and toddler slobber. Eve was not sure when it happened but the screaming and crying subsided some time as well. It looked as if Villanelle was almost successful in lulling the boy to calm by the gentle bouncing of her knee.

“Oh my Jesus, Villanelle. We need a car seat. Also please slow the f--”

“Shh shh, language.”

“-- _fork_ down.”

Villanelle complied. Her foot eased off the pedal and they dropped to a cruising speed only 10 miles over the speed limit now.

“Here, take this.” There was a messy handoff of Raphael between the two women. The assassin shimmied her shoulders to loosen up. Then switched her driving hand with her drinking hand and vice versa.

They drove in silence for the better part of an hour. City streets gave way to paved roads which relented to the country landscape.

“Where are we going?”

“Safehouse.”

A strange calm washed over Eve. Sure they were being pursued by the world’s second most effective known assassin. The first being the woman driving too fast while also consuming alcohol. And sure her husband was likely murdered on the day of her mother’s funeral. And of course there’s a kidnapped toddler half asleep on her knee.

But as scary as that all was, she knew she was safer with Villanelle than without her.

“We need a car seat.” Eve repeated firmly.

Villanelle glanced over and wrinkled her nose. She didn’t say it but Eve could see her thinking ‘Oh, you want to keep it?’ Raphael was curled up in Eve’s lap. She instinctively wrapped her arms around him.

The devil you know.


	4. 'Using your imagination' and 'lying' are the same thing

Villanelle is surprisingly okay with kids.

Or just this kid specifically.

And perhaps _okay_ was a stretch. Eve was honestly just impressed that Villanelle did not leave a window open for Raphael to fall out of ‘by accident’ yet.

How Villanelle set the bar so low for human decency that she gets kudos for not killing someone? Who knows.

“ _Who owns this place, Villanelle?” Eve’s eyes were wide with wonder as the large wrought iron gate closed behind their getaway car._

 _Villanelle’s safehouse ended up being a large estate spanning several dozen acres._ _Perfectly manicured hedges lined the path of the estate leading up to a large, ornate mansion._

_A beat._

“ _A friend.”_

_Eve scoffed. Villanelle doesn’t have friends._

_But Villanelle did not say anything for the next few minutes it took to drive up to the house. A large gentleman with a bald head decorated with tattoos, and an equally menacing looking woman with a full head of hair and a matching uniform stood at the entrance in wait._

“ _Senora,” they greeted Villanelle with a light touch on her shoulders. “Welcome.”_

_Eve raised an eyebrow._

_They turned to look at Eve and Raphael who held on tight to her hand._

“ _Good afternoon. Welcome.”_

The mansion was so large that it housed a fitness center, olympic sized pools both indoor and outdoor, a wine cellar, a theater, a fully stocked kitchen, and it’s own staff.

The wine cellar was the best part of the whole place in Eve's opinion. It was the one place where she felt she could get some privacy. There were no windows. Dimmable smart lights. Temperature and climate controlled. It was quiet. Calm.

Villanelle and Raphael were always running around upstairs yelling about one thing or another. Alejandro and Jeanna, the butler and house manager, were always close behind. Doting on every one of their whims.

Eve took to sampling the many bottles while in the wine cellar. Her index finger traced the various levels of glass. Occasionally she would turn them over to examine the label.

“Good year,” she mumbled to no one in particular. She didn't really know if in fact, it was anyway. In all honesty, all wine tasted the same to her regardless of the year.

Once she was satisfied with her choice, she set off to find Villanelle and her cousin. She cradled the slender neck of the bottle in her one hand while she sipped from the glass in her other. Eve supposes that she should really check on them every once in a while. Make sure they didn’t get into too much mischief.

The estate was so expansive that days could by without its occupants even running into each other.

Raucous laughter erupted from somewhere in the mansion. It took a few minutes and some wrong turns before she finally found the room the two were posted up in.

Villanelle stretched languorously on an overstuffed white sofa. Her head resting in Raphael’s lap. They both had their focus on a tablet resting on Villanelle’s stomach.

“Eve!” Villanelle’s tone registered surprise at the woman’s arrival. “Come, you must see this. Did you know that—what is this called?” she tilts her tablet so that the toddler could see what she was pointing to in the YouTube video.

“A hedgehog!” Raphael clapped his hands, pleased to be helpful.

“Yes, thank you darling—did you know that hedgehogs float, EVE?” Laughter trails off. “It is ridiculous...”

“And they like baths!” That additional information made Villanelle crack up even harder.

Turns out the two are very similar.

“That’ll rot your brain, you know.” Eve gestured her wine glass at their screen.

Villanelle swung her legs off the couch to plant them firm on the ground. “With charm like mine, who needs a brain?”

For a second, Eve imagined Villanelle made of burlap and stuffed with hay. Would that make her Dorothy? And Raphael, Toto? It all did feel very dreamlike to her...

“You overestimate your charm, Villanelle.”

“Geez, _so_ _meone_ is grumpy today.”

Eve’s deadpan expression gave nothing away. It was true though. They have been trapped in the estate for the better part of four weeks now and the lack of new company was really starting to get to her.

Jeanna popped in briefly to place a bowl of fresh fruit on the table. Alejandro followed right after with a tray of biscuits. They said something in Spanish to Villanelle and Raphael before leaving.

Eve eyed the pair. She was growing wary of them. Honestly, what kind of housekeeper has three teardrop tattoos and why would a butler need to be so buff—like Dwayne ‘the Rock’ Johnson buff—anyway? It just did not add up.

They were also always whispering in conspirational tones, too. Conspirational tones? Conspiring tones? Eve eyed her half empty wine glass. She decided that English was a terribly difficult language and topped off her glass instead of thinking too hard about it.

“What do you suggest we do then, Eve?” Villanelle’s words felt pointed. They jabbed at Eve the same way alcohol heated the roof of her mouth and throat.

“Dunno.” She waves around her wine bottle. “Maybe play outside or something?”

As if on cue, thunder clapped. Three sets of eyes looked toward the window.

It was storming.

“Ah... I see.” Eve says. “How long has it been raining?”

“Two days straight.”

“The wine cellar doesn’t have any windows. I had no idea.” She had been down in there all day. Since she the beginning of the week actually.

They have been in strict isolation on Villanelle’s orders since. Eve did not like any of it.

“You have been…” Villanelle looked to Eve, then to the bottle of wine in her hands, then back into the brunette’s eyes. “… distracted.”

Eve averted her gaze. She looked down, around the room, just anywhere except in Villanelle’s judgmental stare.

Her eyes landed on the fruit bowl Jeanna just brought in. She picked up an apple and banana from the fruit bowl on the table to hand to Villanelle and one to Raphael.

“Too much internet will rot your brain. Take this instead.”

“A healthy snack, Eve?”

“Well… it’s not like you can play outside right now anyway. And it’s not like you have any games to play with inside.”

It was true. Villanelle never planned on having children here at the estate, let alone toys for said children.

Over to their side Raphael was holding the apple up to his ear and making phone noises.

Villanelle’s brow furrowed as if to say ‘what the hell are you doing?’

The curly haired woman saw her confusion and tried to clarify. “You have to answer it.” and gestured to the banana still in the other woman’s grasp.

“It’s a toy phone, Eve, and not even a good one either because _i_ _t is a piece of fruit_. No one is there.”

“Ring… ring...”

Eve shrugged. There wasn’t much that Eve knew about kids. Niko was always set on having some but the timing was never right. This much about children she was sure of though. When a toddler gives you a phone, you answer it. “I don’t make the rules.”

When Villanelle failed to engage, Eve placed her wine glass and bottle down before she grabbed the yellow fruit from the other woman’s hands. “Like this.” She raised it to her ear and pretended to answer.

“Erm, this is…. Gupta?”

She is met with giggles and unintelligible babble.

“Mhmm?” She feigned intrigue. Raphael laughed and continued mumbling nonsense.

Villanelle crossed her arms over her chest. “ _Quite_ the conversation you must be having.” Though every word was dripping with sarcasm, she still seemed somewhat amused.

“Mhmm.” Eve leaned into her act just to annoy the blonde further.

“Mhmm.” Proving Villanelle wrong was always fun.

“Mhmm.” She pretended to hang up her banana phone urgently. “The queen is coming!”

“The queen!” Raphael’s laughter filled the room’s cathedral ceilings and made the space feel less hollow.

“Yes! The queen!”

“Let’s have a tea party!”

“Good idea, honey.” She rubbed his shoulder. “The queen loves tea.”

Raphael started to gather up more fruit and biscuits in his arms for his make-believe tea party with the queen.

Villanelle, still with her arms crossed, looked intrigued. This kid’s attention span was almost as short as her own. They spent the bulk of their self quarantine watching YouTube videos about animals and streaming animated movies. But this was the calmest they managed to keep him without bribing him with candy or setting him down in front of a screen.

The blonde had never even considered lying as a method to keep a child entertained.

“You are good at this kid stuff.”

Eve froze. “Because I was using my imagination?” She was suddenly very aware of the wrinkle in her pant leg and not at all at the intense look the other woman was giving her.

Villanelle’s fingers grazed Eve’s elbow, tickled her forearm, and rested on the other woman’s wrist.

“Is that what you call it?” The assassin considered it for a moment. She supposes that ‘using your imagination’ and ‘lying’ are the same thing. Tomato, tomato. Eve is so clever.

“You would be an excellent mother, Eve.”

Her stomach dropped at those words.

Villanelle held the other woman’s gaze. The seconds they looked at each other stretched into what seemed like days.

And even though it felt like an eternity had passed, Eve was still not sure how Villanelle’s statement made her feel.

It was Eve who finally broke their trance.

“We can’t just stay here and play house forever, Villanelle,” her voice barely over a whisper.

“Why not?”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes.” Villanelle said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Eve shook her head hard. As if she shook her head hard enough, she could physically shake the thoughts of Eve and domestic Villanelle out of her mind for good. “I-I can’t. I have too many questions.”

Villanelle dropped Eve’s wrist. She grabbed the banana from the other woman’s hand to fiddle with instead. “What could be more important than this?”

“I just need to know things, Villanelle." Eve wasn't really sure. "… like… Who owns this place?”

Villanelle waved the fruit in a ‘forget about it’ motion.

“Why is the Ghost after me?”

Eve’s question is met with an eyeroll.

“Who killed my mother--”

“--Eve, no one killed your mother. The woman was like 80 years old. A strong breeze probably knocked her over.”

“Or-or what happened to Niko?”

“Who _cares_ what happened to Niko?”

“I need to know what is happening, Villanelle,” Eve gestures vaguely. “Out there!”

“What does it matter what is happening _out there_?” She looked around the room. Villanelle closed the gap between the two. She reached to hold the other woman’s hands. “You have everything you need here.”

“And besides,” Villanelle continued, “anything we do not have we can buy online or have delivered or have Alejo go out and get... We can be happy here.”

Villanelle said it with such conviction that Eve almost believed it was true.

There was something unappealing about that to Eve though. Something that nagged her in the far back of her mind.

Staying in one place for the rest of her life? One home? Routine? Same faces, same things, day in and day out? She tried that life before with Niko and she detested almost every minute of it.

But Villanelle. Well, she was nothing like Niko. Maybe a life with Villanelle would be nothing like the boring life with Niko, too?

…

“No.” But Eve is firm. “Just... no. I can’t.”

“Not even if you ‘use your imagination’?” and though the last words were laced with the hint of a humor at using Eve’s own words against her, the brunette could still feel the seriousness in it’s brevity.

Eve’s resolved remained unwaivered.

That was the end of that conversation.

Villanelle, who never liked to lose an argument, went back to bouncing the banana playfully between her hands. “You know what these look like to _me_?!” She directed the question to Raphael.

“What!” Raphael perked up. Her energy easily rubbed off on the toddler.

“These look like guns!” He jumped at her excited tone and Villanelle was soon jumping with him.

“Guns!” Raphael squeaked.

“What the hell, Villanelle? No guns—” Eve tried to reason.

“Yes, specifically they look a lot like a Beretta 92FS. Do you know what that is, darling?”

Fruit hit the ground as Raphael hopped. His wild hair rolled in waves when he shook his head. For now the make-believe tea party with the Queen would have to wait until after Villanelle’s lesson in firearms.

“Hm, they are the old Italian service pistols. Very reliable gun,” Villanelle pointed the banana at Eve’s center mass. “9mm is a very versatile round. This is why many law enforcement and military have adopted this as their official caliber.”

Raphael was always so eager to learn something new. “Guns are fun!”

Villanelle maintained the other woman’s gaze. Her lips curled wickedly around a soft _pop, pop_ as she pretended to cock the banana like a gun and fire off a round.

Raphael picked up the banana that he dropped just moments ago. Together he and Villanelle pretended to fire off multiple rounds into Eve.

The older woman just stood there speechless.

Villanelle chuckled.

“See, Eve? I can use my imagination to have fun, too. We _can_ be happy here.”

The older woman sighed at Villanelle’s very misguided attempt at showing Eve that she, too, could be a good mom in their Frankensteined family.

From Villanelle’s perspective, though, she totally nailed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes a family is a retired international assassin, the toddler she accidentally kidnapped but later decided to not let die because he is now her trusty sidekick, a widow with Stockholm syndrome and a drinking habit, and their heavily tattooed, overly muscular staff


End file.
